


memento mori

by cosmicwoosan



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Gen, Hallucinations, Horror, Nightmares, Possession, Psychological Horror, Self-Mutilation, Violence, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:47:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25818331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicwoosan/pseuds/cosmicwoosan
Summary: When the lines dividing imagination and reality merge, it's difficult to distinguish good from evil. Sane from psychotic. Right from wrong. They learn this the hard way, when something sinister infiltrates their halls to torture them with the intention of tearing them apart.They're not safe anymore.Terrorized by chilling hallucinations and unconscious impulses, the members of ateez begin to face their very own worst enemy: each other.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 30





	memento mori

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DazzlingCrescent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DazzlingCrescent/gifts).



> Welcome. I'm trying my hand at a horror fic because I've been on a bit of a horror binge. That being said...
> 
> I'm tagging this fic as I go along to avoid spoilers. However, I highly suggest you do not read this fic if you are triggered or made uncomfortable by the following topics:
> 
> -graphic blood, gore, & violence  
> -disturbing imagery involving body parts  
> -vomiting or anything eating disorder-related  
> -bugs, specifically maggots  
> -self harm/mutilation  
> -death under any circumstance
> 
> You have been warned. Proceed with caution.
> 
> (and thank you to Seth, who has helped me tremendously with this concept)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You shouldn’t talk to your leader like that. Something bad might happen to you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for vomiting, blood, & violence

_“So, then, tell us what happened.”_

_“What happened, huh? You’ll have to be more specific than that. A lot of things happened, after all.”_

_“Mm, I see. Well, why don’t you start from the beginning?”_

_“The beginning… the start of it all. If I were to pinpoint a beginning, I guess it would have started with… her.”_

*

They all saw her. They don’t pretend that they didn’t.

Hongjoong is the first one to bring her up once they’re dropped back off at the dorms.

“So… you all saw that girl, right?”

Even with a plethora of lights flashing at them from each and every direction, there had been no mistaking, no ignoring her presence. For the most part, they’re able to recognize the fans who are there at every event, and even though their faces sometimes meld into a blur of camera lenses and familiarity, the girl they had seen was far from familiar.

Draped in white, she stood behind the throng, staring somewhat innocently at the group as they were ushered into their cars. Amongst the chaos, it was easy for her to stand out as she remained still, no camera or anything for that matter in her possession. She did not move, but her eyes did. As innocuous as they seemed, her eerily stagnant gaze left an uneasy feeling in their stomachs.

“Yeah,” Wooyoung says. “She was weird.”

“You think she was lost or something?” Mingi suggests. “I mean, she looked kind of confused, don’t you think?”

The oldest shrugs and sighs, standing up from the sofa. “It was probably nothing, guys. Yeah, she was weird, but I don’t think it was anything to worry about.”

“What if she’s a new sasaeng or something? Oh god, I sure fucking hope not,” Wooyoung says, rubbing his eyes.

“If she is, let the higherups handle it. I’m going to bed.” With another long sigh, Seonghwa trudges to his bedroom and disappears behind the door to prepare for another notorious forty minute-long shower.

“Is he okay?” Wooyoung asks Hongjoong.

Hongjoong shrugs. “Just tired, I’m guessing.”

“Aren’t we all?” Yunho sighs, sinking back into the sofa’s cushion.

Nobody answers.

Because really, they’re all tired. Not that it’s a bad thing; it’s normal for a group of their standing. As tired as they might be, all of their endeavors are worth it. They’re here, under the same roof, supported by each other and millions of others, surrounded by love and adoration that not everyone has the pleasure of experiencing.

What’s a little exhaustion in comparison?

*

Sometimes, one may wake up to a twitch in their body when their dream has only just begun, usually due to whatever the dream consists of.

Mingi dreams he misses a step and trips.

Before his dream self can catch himself from falling, he jolts awake, yawns, and falls right back asleep.

*

Wooyoung wakes up to the smell of breakfast being made, a very, very rare occasion in the dorm, considering they own a total of less than ten dishes and even less pots and pans. Even so, it’s meat, the savory, flavorful scent of meat, and he’s up on his feet in a matter of seconds.

Of course, it’s Seonghwa above the stove, tongs in hand as he flips some bacon around.

“Special occasion?” Wooyoung asks, coming up from behind him.

“No, just felt like making breakfast,” Seonghwa replies with a chuckle.

Wooyoung inhales the smoke deeply, a smile spreading on his face as the scent pools pleasantly in his nostrils. “I’m excited.”

“Who said it’s for you?” Seonghwa asks snarkily.

Wooyoung frowns, glancing down to see that there are only three slices of bacon in the pan and no other morsels of food to be seen.

“Sheesh, are you serious?” Wooyoung steps away.

“If you want to make your own food, make your own food. I’m not obligated to make anyone breakfast here.” Seonghwa switches the stove off and transfers the bacon onto a plate. Wooyoung frowns as he watches the oldest pad over to the table with a mere three slices of bacon as a meal.

“That’s all you’re eating?” Wooyoung asks as Seonghwa sits at the table, back faced away.

“I was just craving bacon,” Seonghwa says matter-of-factly. “I’ll eat more later, when we get to the company.” The bacon doesn’t crunch when Seonghwa bites it. In fact, it looks slightly undercooked and stretches when Seonghwa gnaws on it.

“Suit yourself.” Wooyoung waits for another response, even some snide remark, but he gets nothing. Seonghwa continues to chew his bacon without even sparing a glance.

With an empty stomach, Wooyoung showers and gets dressed for the day. When he emerges, Seonghwa is gone, a greasy plate left in his wake.

*

“Hyung,” Wooyoung says, waving his hand in front of Hongjoong’s face. “Hyung, you with us?”

Hongjoong glances up from his morning coffee, the shadows under his eyes seemingly more sunken in than normal. “I know I asked this last night, but is Seonghwa-hyung okay? He was a little moody earlier, and he only ate some bacon for breakfast,” Wooyoung says.

“I don’t know, he didn’t say anything to me last night. By the time I went to bed, he was already asleep,” Hongjoong replies, taking another sip of his coffee. It’s only tepid.

He frowns and watches the wisps of steam float up from the dark brown, almost black liquid. It smells too bitter.

“A-anyway. Have you seen him?” Wooyoung asks.

“No, I haven’t,” Hongjoong answers, taking another sip. Still lukewarm. He smacks his lips together in an attempt to collect the bitterness that the scent exudes, but tastes nothing.

“You okay, hyung?”

Hongjoong blinks. His coffee is black; since when did he drink his coffee black? He can’t stand bitter things. His tongue would rather shrivel up and fall out of his mouth.

“I think… I’m more tired than I thought.” He laughs humorlessly. “Can’t even taste my coffee. Maybe I’m coming down with something.”

Wooyoung’s eyes narrow as he sits back in the chair. He crosses his arms. “Hyung, you’re being weird.”

“I’m just tired,” Hongjoong says.

He stares at his reflection on the black surfaces, the table and his coffee, and wonders just how many times one can say that before it starts to morph into an excuse for whatever causes dark circles to become body bags.

*

Jongho doesn’t like the atmosphere when they’re gathered for practice.

The practice itself is fine. They’re in sync, they move to every beat and hit every note just as they normally do. But as their bodies are spread out across the floor, lungs inflating and deflating rapidly, Jongho notices how far apart everyone is, and not just physically.

They’re silent. Not a single word. Not a “you did so good!” or “let’s run through this part next, okay?” No words of encouragement or idle conversation. Nothing.

Nobody likes breaking an awkward silence. Nobody wants to be the one to punch a hole in comfort.

After what seems like endless hours of heavy breathing, Hongjoong, their beloved leader, is the one to stand up and tell them to run through ‘Inception’ again. Jongho and everyone else obeys.

Except their second time through, during the final chorus, Seonghwa doesn’t reach up to the heavens like he’s supposed to. Instead, he slides a little too far, stumbles, and collapses onto the floor.

“Hyung!” Wooyoung is the first to his side, while Hongjoong is quick to his feet to turn the music off. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Seonghwa says, though his voice is nothing short of uncertain, maybe even strained. “Just… tired.”

“Did you eat like you said you would?” Wooyoung near screeches, shrill voice echoing off the mirrors of their practice room.

Jongho sees the way Seonghwa gulps. “Hyung, what the hell? You didn’t eat?” Wooyoung continues, shaking his shoulders.

“I wasn’t hungry,” Seonghwa grumbles.

“Oh, don’t give me that! You ate three pieces of bacon this morning and absolutely nothing last night. Don’t you dare fucking say you weren’t hungry!”

“Wooyoung…” comes San’s attempt at a comforting voice. “Please, calm down.”

“Seonghwa.” Hongjoong kneels by Seonghwa’s side. “You really didn’t eat?”

A portion of Seonghwa’s bottom lip disappears as he sucks it in. “I really… I really wasn’t hungry,” he says.

Jongho can’t help but feel like he’s telling the truth.

Hongjoong sighs as he stands up. “Seonghwa. Go eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You need to eat or you don’t practice.”

The two oldest members are standing their ground, glaring at each other. Jongho’s eyes flick between the two, mouth caught between wanting to say something and wanting to stay out of the invisible war they’re fighting.

To Jongho’s surprise, Seonghwa leaves without a word, footsteps heavy as they pound against the floor and echo off the walls. With annoyance evident on his face, Hongjoong pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “One of you, go with him. Please.”

“I’ll go.” Wooyoung is quick to volunteer, hastily chasing after Seonghwa. The rest of the members are left almost gawking at each other.

“What… just happened?” San asks in a small voice.

Hongjoong rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “We can’t practice without them,” Yunho points out, to which the leader just repeats his previous actions.

“Whatever, then.” Hongjoong plops back down and sprawls his body out like a snow angel. “We don’t practice.”

“Hyung… that’s really irresponsible of you,” Yunho says.

“I’m tired,” is Hongjoong’s response.

“Staff’s gonna get mad at us,” Jongho mumbles, picking at the tips of his sneakers. He should get some new ones soon.

“I don’t care.”

“What’s with you?” San barks suddenly. “Are you serious? Why are you being lazy all of a sudden?”

“I’m _tired_.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, so are we, hyung! You’re not the only one in this fucking group, you know!”

“Guys, can you please stop?” Mingi’s deep, sleep-filled voice rings off the walls. He rubs his eyes and yawns. “Look, I barely slept last night and I’m still putting in my all. Hongjoong-hyung, no offense, but San is right. We’re all tired, and—”

Without another word, the leader springs to his feet and storms off, much like Seonghwa had, somewhere down the hall. None of the remaining members bother to follow him. Instead, they look to each other.

“What… just happened?” Yeosang asks, much like San had.

Nobody answers.

Arguments aren’t common. They happen, but not like this. Not with spat words and spite and exhaustion playing the key part. _Yes_ , they’re all tired, but they’re able to sympathize with each other because of it, not argue to compare who’s more tired, who’s lacking more sleep than whom. This isn’t like them.

“Tired, huh?” Mingi thinks aloud. “Tired, my ass.”

Nobody says anything further. Jongho tilts his head to look up at their not-so-finished ceiling and watches one of the lights flicker.

*

Feeling as if a boulder is being squished in between his brain and skull, Seonghwa forces himself to eat a bowl of rice while Wooyoung watches with eyes like a hawk. He chews slowly, robotically, because his jaw hurts and each bite feels like he’s chewing rocks. Swallowing is worse, as the mushed up grains of rice slither down his throat like acid, leaving behind an unpleasant burn and a taste of something sour.

He coughs during his fourth bite, his throat vehemently protesting the rice that he’s trying to swallow, and Wooyoung only watches in astonishment.

“Hyung…”

“Water, please,” Seonghwa chokes out.

Wooyoung fetches Seonghwa a bottle of water, even opening it for him as his hands are clutching the table as his body practically spazzes to expel the rice from his throat. With blurred vision, Seonghwa grabs the bottle and chugs what he can, small splashes of water landing on the table and his lap as his hand trembles violently.

“Hyung… what’s going on? You really don’t seem well,” Wooyoung says, concern filling his voice.

“I j-just…” Seonghwa coughs, a small lump of what might be rice threatening to come back up. He takes another large gulp of water, forcing it back down. “Like I said back there, I’m not hungry.”

“Well, sure, but… it’s like your body was _rejecting_ the rice. _Rice,_ hyung. You really can’t stomach rice?”

Seonghwa glances down at the not even half-eaten bowl of rice in contempt, his stomach already gurgling at the thought of taking another bite. “Are you coming down with something, hyung? You know, Hongjoong-hyung looked kind of ill this morning; maybe you two are getting sick,” Wooyoung continues.

The words “I’m fine” are about to leave Seonghwa’s mouth when he feels his tongue swell as another cough takes over his throat. Blinking back tears, he downs the rest of the water, but the ghost feeling of an enormous lump in his esophagus never diminishes.

“Maybe you should just go back to the dorm and rest, hyung. I’m sure staff will understand,” Wooyoung says.

As much as Seonghwa wants to protest, he really can’t deny it. Not when there’s a whirlpool of undigested food churning around in his gut the more he looks at his unfinished bowl of rice. That’s not _fine._

“W-well what am I supposed to tell them? I don’t… I don’t want to go to the hospital.”

“Hyung, this is your _health_. If you have a stomach bug or something _worse_ , you need medication and rest.”

Seonghwa scowls, pushing away his bowl in defiance. Crossing his arms on the table, he lets his head plummet down onto it, the soft impact sending a shockwave pulsing through his skull, to his brain.

And somehow, the same shockwave ends up in his stomach.

“Oh, f—”

“Hyung—!”

By the time Wooyoung has rushed to Seonghwa’s side to help him up, chunks of rice and bacon have splattered across the table and his shirt, only continuing to trail as Wooyoung attempts to get him to the sink.

“Fucking shit, hyung, are you okay?” Wooyoung asks frantically, glancing back and forth between Seonghwa and his mess.

And of course, Seonghwa can’t respond as he’s occupied retching over the sink.

“Oh my god, fuck…” Wooyoung inhales through his teeth, pinching his nose shut with one hand and dialing Hongjoong’s number with his other.

It goes straight to the dial tone.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Wooyoung mutters to himself, dialing San’s number instead.

“Hello?” San answers after the first ring.

“San-ah, hey, is Hongjoong-hyung there? Seonghwa-hyung threw up, and—”

“Wait, _what_?”

“Yeah, he was eating and he looked like he was in pain and he just threw it all up,” Wooyoung explains, swallowing a lump of his own.

“Oh, Jesus, okay… um, Hongjoong-hyung left. I don’t know where, maybe to the bathroom or something. But, uh, I’ll be right there and I’ll bring some staff, okay? Just… make sure he doesn’t, like, choke or something.”

San hangs up then. Keeping his nose plugged, Wooyoung rubs circles into Seonghwa’s back as the older heaves and coughs into the sink. He doesn’t dare look.

Shockwaves of immense magnitude wrack Seonghwa’s body, each retch threatening to take his limbs down. He holds himself mostly steady with his hands gripping the edge of the sink, eyes squeezed painfully shut as his body purges whatever’s left in him.

It feels like several hours before he feels more hands on his back, patting and rubbing in the most uncomfortably comforting way, and he spits once more before he’s able to open his eyes.

“Hyung, hey.” San is on the other side of him now, as is one of their managers. “Come on, you’re going to urgent care, okay?”

Seonghwa doesn’t have the energy to resist. As a makeshift vomit bowl is thrusted in front of his face, a multitude of supporting hands guide him outside, where the fresh air hits him like an uppercut to the face, and he gags again.

However, with everything in his system gone, nothing comes out but the sour taste of bile in the front of his mouth.

*

Hongjoong hears a vague commotion outside, some hurried footsteps and a few frantic murmurs, but he’s too fucking _tired_ to even check. His intrinsic leadership is telling him to go look because it’s probably important, but he’s staring at himself in the mirror, the deep bags under his eyes the color of charcoal, and he can’t help but feel a little occupied.

It’s ghastly, how vivid the black under his eyes is. How have the other members not pointed it out?

He blinks hard, a blank canvas of white appearing beneath his eyes before he reopens them, and the bags are back to normal. Somewhat of a darker shade of his normal skin tone, not black. Shaking his head, he sighs and turns on the faucet.

One of the lights above his head flickers.

Confused, he glances up, but the light is back to normal, it’s fluorescence continuing to illuminate all the wrinkles and imperfections that no amount of skincare or plastic surgery could cure—the flaws that come with being _tired._

He runs his hands beneath the air dryer and exits the restroom, taking several deep breaths when he sees his members coming down the hall.

“Oh, hyung, there you are!” Yunho calls out. “Your phone was off, I’m guessing.”

“Why, what happened?” Hongjoong asks, observing the panicked expressions of the members sans Seonghwa, San, and Wooyoung.

“Seonghwa-hyung got sick,” Yunho informs him. “Uh, Wooyoung was with him and he threw up while he was trying to eat.”

A collision to the heart. Hongjoong’s chest throbs. “Oh, f-fuck.” Hongjoong’s eyes screw shut as he leans back against the wall next to the restroom door. “Shit, he was really sick… fuck, it’s my fault, isn’t it?”

“Hyung, it’s okay. You were just trying to help him,” Yunho says, crouching down to put a comforting hand on his leader’s shoulder. Yeosang and Jongho remain standing, eyes glancing around nervously.

“I shouldn’t have given him that ultimatum.”

“Well, with how sick he was, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had to stop practicing anyway,” Yeosang points out. “Like Yunho said, you were just trying to help. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

Hongjoong exhales shakily, rubbing his hands together.

“Uh… hyung?” Yunho sounds almost hesitant, eyes trained on his hands.

“What?”

“Your hands…”

Hongjoong spreads his hands out in front of him.

They’re pink. Irritated, it seems. “Did something happen?” Yunho asks.

Hongjoong extends his fingers and retracts them, feeling nothing different. “Um… I don’t know. They feel normal.”

Without warning, Yunho grabs ahold of them. “Hyung, what the hell? They’re warm. Like, unnaturally warm. Don’t tell me you’re coming down with a fever or something.” Yunho’s hand travels to Hongjoong’s forehead.

“I feel _fine._ Yeah, I’m tired, but I don’t feel sick or anything of the sort,” Hongjoong snaps, swatting Yunho’s hand away from his forehead.

Yunho pulls his hand away begrudgingly, expression defeated. With an equally frustrated sigh, he looks up to Yeosang and Jongho, who only shrug at him.

“Well, we’re all going back to the dorm since you and Seonghwa-hyung don’t seem well enough to practice. San and Wooyoung are with Seonghwa. They’re going to urgent care.” Yunho stands up with a grunt, motioning his head for Hongjoong to follow them.

In the van, Hongjoong rests with his head against the tinted window, eyes drooping and brain pounding against his skull, when he feels hands on his.

His eyes shoot open only to see Yunho to his left, asleep, and Yeosang and Jongho are behind him.

He glances down at his hands.

They’re still pink.

*

With three members missing, it’s silent at the dorms. A gargantuan tension is spread out over their ceiling like storm clouds, waiting for that one spark, that one flash of lightning, and then everything would fall apart.

Hongjoong is massaging his temples in an attempt to expel his pounding headache while his members watch wordlessly, twiddling their thumbs.

“So… do you think it’s just a bug or something?” Yeosang asks to nobody in particular.

“Probably,” Yunho says with a shrug. “I’m sure it’s nothing that serious. He’ll probably just have to rest for the next few days and he’ll be fine.”

“What about you, hyung?” Yeosang asks the only person who could have that title.

Hongjoong opens his eyes, heavy as if swollen from a spider bite, and scowls. “Y-you should get some rest. Seriously,” Yeosang adds, his voice trembling.

 _You shouldn’t talk to your leader like that. Something bad might happen to you,_ Hongjoong thinks.

 _Stop_. _That’s not right._

Hongjoong’s eyes close again as he feels the right side of his face twitch. “I’m fine,” he says.

_Test me one more time and you’ll find your head on my bed as an ornament._

“Hyung—”

“I said I’m _fine_! Don’t fucking ask me again, got it?”

Hongjoong stands abruptly, the earth quaking below him as he does, swift spots of white light popping in his peripheral. He winces and stumbles on his own two feet.

_I’mfineI’mfineI’mfineI’mfineI’mfineI’mfine_

_Ask me if I’m fine one more time and I’ll choke the words right out of your fucking throat._

Yeosang somehow visibly cowers under Hongjoong’s glare, and their beloved leader watches Yeosang’s Adam’s apple bob in his throat, imagining his pink fingers curled around it.

“You want me to sleep? Fine, I’ll go to sleep,” Hongjoong says, a cold, venomous cadence to his tone.

_If I don’t wake up, I’ll blame it on you._

So Hongjoong goes, disappears behind his bedroom door, and practically throws himself onto the twin-sized mattress.

Seonghwa isn’t there, but the rancid scent of stomach acid lingers.

*

It’s almost dark by the time the three missing members return to the dorm. Seonghwa appears fine, perhaps a bit paler than usual, but he’s not hunched over a bucket or struggling to walk. Even so, San and Wooyoung support him by his arms as if he would collapse.

The first thing San asks when he observes the room is, “Where’s Hongjoong-hyung?”

“Sleeping,” Yeosang mutters almost spitefully.

Mingi is sleeping too, San notices, curled up against Yunho, breathing soundly. Jongho’s on his phone.

Something doesn’t seem right. San can feel the air particles nipping at his skin.

“Uh… did something happen?” he asks.

“Hyung was being an ass,” Jongho says, seemingly unbothered.

“You shouldn’t say that, Jongho-yah. Have some respect,” Wooyoung reprimands, but Yunho shakes his head.

“No, he’s right,” he says. “Hongjoong-hyung _was_ being an ass.”

“What did he do?” Wooyoung asks.

Yeosang rolls his eyes. “I just told him he should get some rest and he flipped the fuck out on me. Seriously, for a second there I thought he was going to reach out and hit me or something.”

Seonghwa’s mouth falls open. “What? He would never do that.”

“I know,” Yeosang mumbles, half convincingly. “But it was scary. He gets angry, yeah, but he’s never gotten _that_ angry over someone telling him he needs rest. You do it all the time, don’t you, hyung? He doesn’t get snippy with you when you do, right?”

Seonghwa shakes his head, eyes landing on the hallway, where, behind one of the doors, Hongjoong rests.

“He didn’t look… right,” Yeosang mumbles. “I really thought he was going to lash out or something.”

More humid silence. The storm brews.

“So, um… what’s the diagnosis?” Yunho asks, steering the conversation away.

“Stomach bug, food poisoning. Something along those lines, even though he can’t remember eating anything bad,” Wooyoung says, plopping down on the sofa next to Yunho. “He’s been told to drink lots of fluids and eat in small portions.”

“Still not hungry,” Seonghwa mutters. “But I’ll drink.”

“We’ll make sure of it,” Wooyoung tells him with a wink.

Seonghwa sighs, ignoring Wooyoung’s somewhat flirtatious gesture and heads for the hallway.

Through the pale blue light the dusk offers through the curtains, Seonghwa sees Hongjoong in his bed, body flat against the mattress, with his arms crossed over his chest and hands clasped around his throat.

Bewildered, Seonghwa flips the light on.

“Hongjoong?”

There’s no response. Seonghwa’s footsteps pound against the floor before he kneels at Hongjoong’s bedside, watching in horror as Hongjoong’s fingers indent the skin of his own throat. The leader’s eyes are closed, almost like he _is_ sleeping, but his mouth is open, tongue barely hanging out, and his face doesn’t quite look like he’s in dreamland.

At least, a happy one.

Moreover, his skin is a rash pink, scabby by the looks of it.

“Hey, Hongjoong-ah!” Seonghwa shouts, grabbing Hongjoong by the shoulders and shaking frantically.

When Hongjoong barely stirs, Seonghwa goes for his hands instead, prying them off his throat, only to startle backwards when he feels _resistance._

Hongjoong awakes with a strangled gasp and a pained yell.

“What, what? What’s going on?” Hongjoong asks, head turning.

“I should be the one asking _you_ that!” Seonghwa bellows, followed by a chorus of footsteps that stop at their door.

“What the hell happened?” Wooyoung demands.

“I don’t know. Tell us, Hongjoong, why the hell were you _choking yourself_ in your sleep?”

Hongjoong’s mouth drops in disbelief, brows furrowed in what looks like betrayal. Seonghwa glances down at his hands again, _still pink, still blotchy._ “And what the hell happened to your hands?” he asks, attempting to reach for Hongjoong’s wrist.

Hongjoong slaps Seonghwa’s hand away, leaving a sharp sting and a sound that booms.

And then another slap.

And then several gasps.

“Hyung, what the _fuck_?” Wooyoung screams, scrambling into the room to pull Seonghwa back.

Hongjoong looks at his hand, pink and numb, scabbed over. But it may as well be covered in blood. Seonghwa’s blood.

Seonghwa is cupping his face, twisted in confusion and terror as he slowly backs up with Wooyoung’s help. “H-Hongjoong—”

“W-wait, Seonghwa, I—”

“Stay the fuck back,” Wooyoung snarls, one hand pulling Seonghwa back up to his feet and the other held out in some sort of warding off stance. “Don’t you dare fucking come any closer.”

“I d-didn’t… I didn’t mean to, wait—” Hongjoong feels his bones crack as he swings his legs over the side of the bed.

Wooyoung ushers Seonghwa back out into the hallway where the other members are huddled, watching with wide eyes and heaving chests.

Hongjoong’s heart once swelled for his members as he would watch them smile on stage.

His heart swells with something different now.

Beating, beating, filling with blood, _too much_ , that his chest hurts and his body feels like bursting.

_Make it stop._

_You know how to make it stop._

_Make it stop!_

“Don’t. Move.” Wooyoung is at the forefront of the warzone, guarding the doorway as he pulls out his phone.

“No, Wooyoung, don’t—”

Wooyoung shakes his head, raising his phone to his ear.

_Make it stop. You know how to make it stop._

As his body bursts, Hongjoong lunges forward, nabbing Wooyoung by the hair and shoving him forward, his other members parting like the Red Sea so he can bash Wooyoung’s head into the wall.

A deafening slam and crack sound like a drum, the feeling of a skull shattering under his own palm. Hongjoong watches red smear the walls as Wooyoung’s limp body slides down.

And he smiles.

*

_“So he had a lot of nightmares then?”_

_“You could say that. But really, it was all one big nightmare. A nightmare that encapsulated all of us, tied us together. And we all suffered because of it.”_

_“So… he wasn’t the only one who was having nightmares?”_

_“Ugh… if I have to make it simpler for you, no. He was not the only one having nightmares. All of us were. One. Big. Nightmare.”_

*

Hongjoong wakes up to a dark room, gasping as his senses return to him. Blood coursing through his body, he jolts up, panting. He’s here. He’s alive. His head is killing him.

He cautiously removes himself from bed and glances up at Seonghwa’s bunk, letting out a sigh of relief when he sees the oldest sleeping soundly.

There’s a soft thud.

Frowning, Hongjoong opens the door to the dimly lit hallway, illuminated by the single light hanging over the kitchen sink and the open fridge. Directly in front of the fridge stands Mingi, still and straight as a statue, unnaturally so.

“Mingi-yah?”

Mingi doesn’t respond at first. “Hey, Mingi,” Hongjoong repeats, louder, even clearing his throat.

The taller finally seems to waver, startling himself as he turns to face Hongjoong. “Oh, hyung. You’re awake now.”

Hongjoong checks the time on the stove. 2:49 AM.

“Yeah… when did Seonghwa get back?”

“Oh, they got back around seven. You must’ve been really tired to be conked out for that long.”

“What… what time did I go to sleep?”

Mingi tilts his head at him questioningly. “About two hours before… damn, hyung, your memory’s shit.”

_That’s no way to talk to your leader._

Hongjoong suppresses the shiver and the tingling of his hands.

“A-anyway, what was Seonghwa’s diagnosis?”

“Just a stomach bug, or something like that. He wasn’t running a fever or anything. Could’ve just eaten something bad, even though he said he doesn’t remember eating anything spoiled.” Mingi shrugs. “He’s just going to eat in small portions and drink a lot of water.”

“Wooyoung _did_ say something about him eating only bacon for breakfast. Maybe it was that.”

Mingi shrugs again. “Maybe.”

Hongjoong peers over Mingi’s towering frame at the open fridge, which is home to some leftover takeout, some bottles of water, fruit bowls, bacon, and… a raw steak?

When did they get that?

“Uh, by the way, what are you doing?” he asks.

There is a several second silence as Mingi glances back at the fridge, then back at Hongjoong, face contorted in thought. “Um… getting a midnight snack I guess. At three instead, ha.”

Unconvinced but too tired to argue, Hongjoong lets out a sigh and turns around. “I’ll leave you to it, then,” he says with a lazy wave of the hand.

Before he disappears back into the pitch blackness of his room, he catches a glimpse of his hands in the faint light of the hallway.

They’re not pink. But they do feel somewhat rough to the touch.

*

Wooyoung wakes up to the smell of meat once again, all too familiar, to the point where it sparks fear rather than excitement. He rubs the sleep from his eyes, surprised to see Yeosang and Jongho out already, and hurries out into the hallway.

Above the stove stands Seonghwa once again, this time, over a sizzling strip of meat.

Upon his request, they’d gone to the supermarket after Seonghwa’s visit to the clinic to get food for his recovery diet or whatever, but even though the doctor recommended against meat, Seonghwa pulled Wooyoung to the side and told him that he was craving it, that it was the only thing he felt like eating.

 _“I feel like it’s the only thing I_ can _eat.”_

Wooyoung would take that over Seonghwa not being able or willing to eat anything at all.

So, among rice, bread, bananas, and fruit, Wooyoung threw in a steak, telling the managers that it was for him, not Seonghwa.

“You’re staying here today, right?” Wooyoung barely phrases it as a question.

“I got the okay to go in for observation and vocal lessons, not dance practice. But they said if I’m feeling ill again, I can come back,” Seonghwa replies, flipping his slab of meat.

Next to him is the bloody cutting board, where the remaining piece of raw steak lies in a pool of its own juices.

“Saving that for next time?” Wooyoung asks, pointing at it.

“Yeah,” Seonghwa says. “Gotta make it last for as long as I have this stupid bug.”

Wooyoung frowns. “The doctor _did_ say to stay away from salty and fatty foods, you know…”

“I didn’t salt it,” Seonghwa interjects, turning the stove off.

Wooyoung watches as he transfers it onto one of the few plates they own, his frown deepening when he sees red still seeping out from the brown. In fact, the meat has only _just_ turned brown, like the rarest a steak can get without it still being able to moo.

“Uh, hyung, do you think the reason you got sick might be because of the bacon you ate? It did look a little undercooked.”

Seonghwa retrieves a fork and steak knife from the drawer, ignoring Wooyoung’s remark and sitting down at the table.

An all too familiar sight if Wooyoung’s ever seen one.

When Seonghwa cuts into the meat, red spills out of it. A thin lining of brown meat encases all red, and the knife is able to slice through it as if it’s butter. Wooyoung can feel his stomach churn just from watching Seonghwa put the first piece in his mouth, chewing rabidly like he hasn’t eaten in days.

“Hyung…”

“What?” Seonghwa snaps, mouth stuffed. His lips already look redder.

“Um… nothing.”

Wooyoung leaves it at that just in case he opens his big fat mouth.

_If you get worms, that’s on you._

*

It’s inconvenient not having Seonghwa as part of their formation, but they’ve been like this before. They’ve been incomplete, with a member or two absent due to injury or sickness. This isn’t any different.

At least… it shouldn’t be. But Yunho doesn’t like it.

Seonghwa is sitting off to one of the corners, leaning his head against the mirror, eyes blearily watching as his members dance their hearts out, and Yunho can’t help but feel the sheer dagger of pity through his gut. He wants nothing more than for Seonghwa to join them, but he also would rather not have vomit all over the dance floor.

Moreover, Hongjoong looks _exhausted_ despite having slept for twelve hours, more sleep than they get in two days. Well, Yunho supposes one night of abundant slumber isn’t enough to fix exhaustion in its physical manifestation upon one’s face, but still.

They’re clearly not at their best, and Yunho is the one to notice it. He can tell in the way Hongjoong slides too far, or how Wooyoung’s eyes are elsewhere, or how Mingi has to take a break in his movements just to _yawn._

“Okay, guys,” Yunho says with a long exhale. “Clearly, we’re not at a hundred percent right now. We need to pick up the slack.”

“Careful, Hongjoong-hyung might go over there and smack you,” Yeosang comments offhandedly.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I was tired and frustrated. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that. I’m _sorry_.” Hongjoong rubs his hands over his face, his cheeks sagging as he does so.

Yeosang simply looks away, a mere indignant glower as a response, and not even to the leader’s face.

“Seriously, guys. Don’t make me bring staff in,” Yunho says. “If we don’t pick up the slack _now_ , imagine how we’ll look to them when they _do_ come in. Let’s go.”

With an exasperated sigh, Yunho turns back around to face the mirror.

And he whips right back around, arm extended.

“Hey, Mingi!”

_No, that’s not right. That’s not… that’s not right._

“What?” Mingi says, clearly taken aback. “Why are you yelling at me all of a sudden?”

When Yunho turns back to the mirror, Mingi is standing a meter away, pouting.

Not directly behind him, staring at him with piercing eyes that looks like it could kill. Not with his arms around his chest about to capture him in an embrace that may or may not be benign.

Yunho does, however, narrowly miss Jongho as he swings.

“Dude, what the hell?” the youngest says, stepping back. “You talk about needing to pick up the slack and then you try to take a swing at me?”

“Fucking… fine, I’m sorry, I thought… never mind. Come on, let’s just practice, guys.”

He dreads having to look at the mirror again, but when he does, everything seems normal. Seonghwa turns on the music with the remote and leans back against the wall, watching with half-lidded eyes as his members start to dance again.

As much as Yunho is sweating from the intensity of the practice, he can’t help but feel shivers like a million knives skewered into his spine, forcing goosebumps to surface on his skin.

With each move, he wants to look back. Something about the reflection in the mirror makes him uneasy, and he’s not sure of which part.

*

When they break for lunch, San goes to wash his hands in the restroom when he sees Hongjoong doing the same.

Except.

“Hyung, what the hell?”

As Hongjoong scrubs, _scrubs_ , his hands, steam floats up from the sink, fogging up the faucet. “Hey!” San calls again, switching off the water. “Hyung, what the fuck are you doing?”

“What? I’m washing my hands, what does it look like I’m doing?”

“It looks like you’re burning the fuck out of them instead!” San grabs Hongjoong’s wrists, eyes fixed on his raw, pink skin.

Hongjoong looks down at them, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Are you serious, hyung?” San nearly gasps, turning Hongjoong’s hands over. They’re one solid color, a blotchy pink, and they’re hot to the touch, just like the water he was using to make them like this. “You had the hot water all the way on! What were you thinking?”

“I did?”

San’s eyes widen, meeting Hongjoong’s, who’s staring at him like he has three and a half heads. “Uh, yeah! Do you not feel it?”

Hongjoong wiggles his fingers. “No? Because I wasn’t burning my hands?”

“Yes the fuck you were! Look at them, hyung!” San holds Hongjoong’s wrists up, putting hands on display right in front of their owner.

Hongjoong stares at them. “Y-yeah, they’re pink. They’ve been like this since yesterday.”

“Since _yesterday_? What, were you burning your hands yesterday too?”

“I wasn’t burning my hands!”

With a sharp inhale through his teeth, San releases Hongjoong’s wrists, shaking his head. “You’re acting real weird, hyung. And don’t tell me it’s because you’re _tired_.”

Hongjoong looks at him with tired, somber eyes, bottom lip quivering slightly.

Before San can open his mouth anymore, he carries on with his own business, washing his hands with lukewarm water and drying them, all while Hongjoong gapes at him.

“If anything bad happens to you because of that, it’s on you, hyung.”

San walks out, the skin of his hands only barely tingling.

*

Jongho is back in the practice room after a long, awkward day of minimal interaction and unsettling stares. Having Yunho almost knock him in the face was unnerving enough, but seeing his fellow members being so nonverbally hostile towards each other was making his skin crawl.

In all honesty, he’s somewhat glad to be by himself now. He can get some extra practice in while the rest are at their individual practice sessions. Or doing whatever else they do. Hongjoong’s probably sequestered himself in his studio again, and maybe he’ll stay there so he doesn’t snap at another member again. Seonghwa is probably, hopefully home, getting the rest he needs. He hopes that the rest of the members are safe and calm, wherever they are, as scattered as they may be.

And he sure fucking hopes Seonghwa is eating.

He’d sat across from Seonghwa at lunch, who had a bottle of water in front of him and nothing else. He stared at it like it would jump on him at any point in time. Like it was a threat. A fucking bottle of water.

It made him feel like _he_ was the one with the stomach bug.

With only a few lights on, Jongho doesn’t start practicing right away. He takes a few moments to himself, sprawling out on his back and staring up at the single flickering light above his head.

Squinting, he turns his head towards the mirror.

And he smiles.

But he doesn’t smile.

 _He_ smiles.

Whoever it is.

Jongho sits up and staggers backwards, landing on his back again.

_Who was that?_

The reflection just stares back at him.

He doesn't smile.


End file.
